50 prompts - Beyond World's End
by make-mine-a-kiaora
Summary: When writing the 50 prompts chapters as a set of one shots, some chapters started to come together into a non-contiguous story.To make it less confusing, I've pulled them out into this separate entry. However, this is a collection of related one shots and not a real story. My apologies for any inconvenience. Set soon after the demise of Red John. Reviews and comments very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

_Thank you to Tromana for supplying the 50 prompts which inspired this story._

_Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made._

_Rated T: A little angsty and oblique mention of suicide_

**3. I miss you**

"I miss you."

Jane slumped on the withered grass by the edge of Angela's grave, his stick hooked over the top of the headstone and his injured leg stretched out in front of him. Absently he traced her name with his fingertips. The stone was warm and polished.

"I got him, you know. We got him. Not sure who actually killed him. Rigsby, van Pelt and Cho have an equal right to that one, though Rigsby shot first. But we did it. And it was me that tracked the bastard down. After he took Lisbon. We got her back alive. Not unharmed but it could have been so much worse.

I'll settle for that. A team effort. I bet you never thought you'd see the day!"

Jane shifted, wincing at the shooting pain through his right thigh.

"Ten years. It's been a whole decade, my love. Sometimes it feels much nearer than that."

He scrubbed his face with one hand, leaning back on the other. The midday sun was hot on his head and back. The cherry blossom was fading, petals drifting downwards in the still air.

"So I've come back to talk with you. Daft huh, I know you're not here. Cognitive dissonance, they call it. But I'll talk to you all the same and I know that you'll listen.

I know that I failed you in every way possible. You and Charlotte. But never doubt that I loved you with everything I was and everything I could give. And I still love you. Both of you. I will till the final beat of my heart and the brainwaves fade to nothing. That will never change. It can't. Some things are immutable.

I did the most stupid thing imaginable. I taunted a monster on air. It never even occurred to me. If I'd have thought, even for a moment, that he'd have come after you, I'd have screamed down the phone, telling you to grab Charlie and run for it. But I was too dumb to even realise it then. After I'd shot my mouth off and sent the world to hell. It wasn't till I saw that note and opened our bedroom door.

The guilt is part of me. Generally it's manageable. Sometimes it's been overwhelming. Red John's death doesn't change that. But it is now making it more bearable.

So, it's been five weeks and four days since we took him down. Five weeks in hospital – there's only the leg now and that should improve – and four days in Malibu. Lisbon went spare when she heard that I'd discharged myself and gone back up there. Danny came through for me though. I'd only wanted a lift but he stayed. Got food in and kept an eye on things from a distance. He even gave up calling me out on it after a while. And I think, in the end, it helped him too. The ocean sings to him almost as much as it does to me, I think. He's making his peace with everything now. Our talk a few years ago set him back on track and now he has closure. He'll get there. I can tell.

Mother Teresa! He had to ring her in the end. Assure her that I was OK and not on my own. I bet she got van Pelt to trace the call to make sure. Sometimes she knows me too well. Nothing I could say could convince her. And after all those weeks at my bedside, she needs to work. To be in the thick of it again. I'm going back to the CBI too next week, picking up my old job. Good thing consultants don't need to pass physicals. It'll be a while before I'm fleet of foot, if ever, and that stick is now my faithful friend. And as for physio – sheesh – they're not going to let go of me any time soon. Legally sanctioned torture, that's what it is. Oh, and the other thing. Sophie called me up. They've given her special dispensation to do my psych eval – Lisbon's doing again I'm sure – given she's the only shrink that I'll actually talk to. I'm seeing her on Monday.

Back to Danny. He looks well. He's smartened up quite a bit since you last saw him. Same old. But he's doing OK. And he's found a woman. Serious, if I don't miss my guess. Won't let me meet her though, for some reason. We'll never be close again, him and me, though I suppose we never really were. But we're OK now. And I can't tell you how glad I am about that.

Heard from Sammy and Pete too. They'd seen it on the news. Daisy's still going strong, and as cantankerous as ever, from what Pete tells me. He wanted to check that I hadn't kicked the bucket yet."

Reaching round, Jane grabbed the water bottle that Lisbon left him with and took a few gulps.

"The CBI… Who'd ever have thought it, heh, but I have a home there and a purpose. I can use my skills to help, not exploit. And I have friends. Good friends. Who'd die for me and I for them. Somewhere along the lines, something went right. Though it's still strange to think I'll be back there soon. I imagine that Lisbon has secured the attic with the most advanced safe lock she can find. Though, given the elevator doesn't go that far, the bullpen couch is much more appealing.

You know, things have changed a lot for me since Red John's demise. I've done a lot of thinking whilst I had to lay back in bed and rest. I hadn't realised it before, but I never truly grieved for you and our precious angel. I couldn't. I could only drag myself through day by day and focus on revenge to give me a purpose. And I didn't allow myself to accept that you are gone. Apart from Lisbon, the team don't even know your names. I wasn't consciously aware of it, but I was still trying to hold our lives together, us, with everything that I had. If I could keep the pieces in the air, they wouldn't hit the ground and become hard reality."

He spun his wedding ring.

"And I still wear this.

You know, for the longest time, I struggled to remember. To recall anything apart from that night. What he did to you. How you must have suffered. I had every different scenario I could think of on replay/rewind and I still fear that none of them did justice to your suffering. Either of you.

I knew I hadn't forgotten the other stuff. Your lives. The time we shared. That it was all safe in the memory palace, but the rooms were filled with a thick smog that I couldn't penetrate. In the last few weeks, it's begun to clear. Just flashes. Moments. But I feel you here now with me and I sorrow in a way that I couldn't before. I've cried so much in the last few weeks. More than the last 10 years combined I think. I wouldn't say it's healing but it's not festering either.

Whilst I was in the hospital, I met someone. Really strange.

I was beginning to get mobile, testing out the crutches, and I went for an amble round the ward and into the visitors' area. Least, that was the plan. But I overestimated my stamina and I ended up having to rest near one of the benches. A lady was there and she made room for me. Even brought me a cup of tea – if you can call it tea from those vending machines. We got to talking. Her name was Lisa. Lisa Hanabrooke. She was waiting to hear about her friend, who'd fallen and broken her hip.

After a while, she told me a little of her life. She was 86 and had been widowed for the second time three years ago. I asked her how she could do it. Survive it a second time and she took my hand. I let her.

It turns out that her first husband took his own life. She spoke of the anguish and the guilt. The sense that it was her fault somehow. If she'd have recognised just how bad things were, if she'd have known what to do, what to say. How she must be a terrible person, must have somehow betrayed him and his love.

But then, she said, she was one of the lucky ones because it started to get better. And she began to realise two things. Firstly, no matter what the circumstances, you are not responsible for someone else's actions and can never be. It is their doing and their doing only, whether they're in their right mind to take responsibility for it or not. And secondly, if you truly share your love with someone, both giving and receiving, then you're bound to them for the remainder of each of your lives. And if you are left on your own, you must make a choice. To see, feel and experience that love as a blessing, despite the anguish and the pain, or to twist it into a curse and use it to beat yourself. She decided that her man, despite what happened, loved her too much, as she loved him, to defame what they shared. And, terrible though the circumstances, and hurt though she still did, therefore she had to find a way to live that reflected this.

After a while, she said, she opened her eyes to the suffering around her. Other people's losses. The fragility of life. And how many of those people who die every day would fight for a chance at life with everything in them. She decided that, if life and love are a blessing, and too precious and too short to demean, then that means accepting who and where you are and choosing to embrace the miracle, engage with it as fully as possible. She said that it's not easy and it's certainly not painless, but how many worthwhile things ever are?

A few years later, she met the man who she was to marry the second time around. Their love was different to her first love, and never occluded it, but just as strong and fulfilling. And the memories of both her loves sustain her even now.

I don't know how she did it but she got through to me. I had a crazy night were I cried almost non-stop and my brain started to re-sort and shuffle. Re-wire.

For the first time, I accepted what Lisbon's been trying to tell me for years. I did something insanely and criminally stupid and that's on me - but I did not kill the two of you. I had no intention or thought of harming you and I didn't wield the knife. Red John did that – of his own volition and out of his own bloodlust and arrogance.

And I've been thinking a lot about what you and Charlie would say to me, if you could be here now. What you would think of my life. My choices. What you would want for me and from me. And I know what your opinions would be. You'd be horrified. I can almost hear your ranting in my head. You would hate it. Utterly hate it. What I let myself become. And, if it wasn't for serendipity - meeting Lisbon and the team and being taken on at the CBI – how much further I would have fallen. Teresa has been my saviour. I have no doubt of that.

So, I have decided that I would like to try living, if that's OK with you. To turn back to the light and the people who are with me now. The team. Sophie. Pete, Sammy and Danny, Virgil Minelli, JJ Laroche and Madeleine Hightower, for a start. And I'm here to ask for your permission. I would like to try to love again. To build a future with Lisbon eventually and to make new rooms in that dusty attic in my head. If I didn't know how much she means to me before, I certainly found out when I discovered her strapped to Red John's chair whilst he threatened to cut her like he did you.

And I ask for your forgiveness. For everything but especially for what he did to you and my part in that."

Jane held his hand up to the light, watching as the sun sparked on the gold band. He took a deep breath and then slowly pulled it from his finger, clasping it in his right palm.

"Thank you, my love."

He shuffled forward, pressing his lips to Angela's gravestone, before reaching over and doing the same to Charlotte's.

"Daddy loves you, my angel, more than he can ever say. And he always will. Look after your Mummy for me."

After a few moments, Jane swiped at the tears in his eyes, trying to stop them but they kept falling. He gave in, sobbing quietly for a while, before he was able to regain his composure. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone.

"Lisbon? Yeah, I'm ready.

No, I know I can't stand up without help. You coming?"

He smiled as he pocketed the phone. She'd be here. She probably already was, though she'd never say. And she'd got the paint. And after they'd finished, Malibu could go on the market. Be a family home for some other couple, untainted by the memories of Red John.

And in a few weeks, when he could no longer justify bunking down on Teresa's couch, Jane knew he would find a new place to call his own. And he'd be there for Lisbon and with her, step by step and day by day, until they were both ready to take their relationship to the next stage and be honest about their love for each other.

A future without Red John.


	2. Chapter 2

**8. Not yet**

_This is an accompaniment to ch 3: "I miss you" so it will make most sense if you read that first. It's written from Lisbon's POV. I'm taking the prompts out of order as this felt like it wanted to be written. Some prompts are covered in this story and the rest will be covered in "50 prompts"._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story. _

_Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Mentalist and make nothing from FF._

Lisbon parked the SUV by the cemetery gates, killing the air con and winding down the window. A hot day for the end of Spring. She'd known that Jane would be here a while so she'd had time to make a quick visit to the nearby deli. The picnic was packed and in the back, along with more bottles of chilled drinks and a thermos of hot water, ready to make tea and coffee. They could stop off once they exited the city and find a beauty spot at which to eat. It would take another hour to get to Malibu and it was quite a while since breakfast this morning in Sacramento.

Two large tins of matt magnolia paint and one smaller one of white gloss, some paintbrushes and rollers, sandpaper, scrubbing brush and bleach were in the trunk from her visit to the DIY store earlier, whilst Jane had waited in the car. He'd assured her that he already had masking tape and newspaper for the floor. They were going to get rid of the last of the evidence of Red John once and for all. Then he was talking about selling the place. Moving on. Letting a new family enjoy the seclusion, facilities and private slice of the Pacific shoreline, without the accompanying horrors.

She was going to help him get that bedroom sorted and then they were driving up the coast a little way to a small guesthouse with a downstairs twin bedded ensuite room. He wasn't going to be alone tonight and he wasn't staying in Malibu. For all that he was recovering, his injuries were still giving him jip and she knew that he became exhausted very easily. And he needed someone there in case he got into difficulties, especially since he should still be in the hospital.

At least once he started back at work, they could all keep an eye on him whilst he rested on the couch or fell asleep in the SUV. The bullpen without a recumbent Jane seemed hollow and everyone was looking forward to his return. In the team, at least. Perhaps less so in the DA's office.

Tomorrow Rigsby, Cho and van Pelt would be coming up, to help with the cleaning and sprucing of Jane's property and checking over the outside. She smiled, remembering how overwhelmed he'd been when everyone had said that they wanted to help out. It was the least they could do. The decade spent hunting Red John, and especially the pressure of the last few months, had brought them all close together. It wasn't just a unit of work colleagues. It was a family.

It was over a month now since the team brought down Red John after the maniac had grabbed her. Everyone had scrambled, but Jane found her first. Lisbon shivered to think of that terrible afternoon when everything changed. How she'd come round to find herself bound to a chair. The desperation in Jane's eyes. And the way he threw himself at Kirkland, putting his own body between her and her nemesis. The hand to hand battle that followed as both men grappled for the killer's knife. If Rigsby hadn't arrived when he did, distracting Red John long enough for him and the team to get a bead on him, Jane likely wouldn't have made it.

She shuddered, as the memories flashed back in vibrant detail. For a moment she'd thought that Jane was already dead, but they were lucky. Red John had struck to incapacitate rather than kill, no doubt wanting to make Jane watch as he killed her. A chilling reminder of just how confident in his superiority the serial murderer was, which proved to his detriment in the final act. Jane was still in a very bad way to start with, but he'd fought hard and she'd held onto his hand like the connection would tether him to the world of the living. Her prayers had been answered, and he was getting stronger with each new day.

And, even more than that, the mental wounds looked to be starting to mend. The last few weeks had been an emotional tornado for Jane. All his defences, his controls, had fallen away and the grief consumed him. But he was coming through it. Showing early signs of recovery like the first snowdrops appearing in the depth of winter. She knew that today, time spent talking with his wife and daughter at their graves, was what he needed. It might be harrowing for him but she would be there. Listen if he wanted. Just be company if not. Considering selling the house was a massive step, and a clear indicator that things were changing. She hoped that this was the first of many and that Jane would be able to turn to the future in time.

In her jacket pocket, Lisbon ran her fingers over the links of a heavy metal chain, noting its sturdiness. The day was coming, before too long if she wasn't mistaken, when Jane would remove his wedding ring. It was much a pledge of his vengeance as of his love. When he did, this chain was for him. So he could wear the ring safe around his neck, still close to his heart, just like she wore her mother's cross. Or alternatively, find a way to secure it in his top vest pocket, if he no longer wanted it next to his skin.

Picking the romance novel out of her bag, she began to read. Not her usual choice but the best that could be found in the supermarket rack. She would definitely have to hide it from Jane or he'd rib her without respite.

Forty minutes later, her phone rang with the summons. Jane was ready. As she walked towards him, she could see that he was already on his feet, leaning as a little unsteady, with his right fist resting on top of one of the grave stones. He'd clearly been crying but he looked better for it. Younger, almost. And the shy smile that split his face made her heart squeeze.

Not yet, but maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

**6. I'm not sorry_._**

_Rated T for safety. The 50 prompts were originally all going to be separate stories but this one has taken on a life of its own._

_Disclaimer: not mine, no money made from fanfiction._

_Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favourited. I really appreciate it._

**I'm not sorry**.

It was mid-afternoon when Lisbon pulled the SUV into the expansive gravel drive of Jane's beachfront property. Unsurprisingly, her partner was dead to the world, head lolling on the passenger window as his eyes flicked under closed lids. REM sleep. At least there were no outward signs that anything vile was disturbing his dreams. Not this time. And he needed sleep if he was to heal - physically and emotionally. His right fist still clutched his wedding ring, as it had since leaving the cemetery.

Lisbon jumped down from the driver's seat, wrinkling her forehead against the incipient headache. Caffeine withdrawal. And hunger. Given that sleeping beauty had nodded off about an hour into the journey, she had chosen not to disturb him for their planned lunch break, but to drive straight through. And now that needed remedying.

For a moment, she toyed with the idea of lifting Jane's keys and unloading the vehicle whilst he slept. But the chances of getting away with that were slim to none. And she didn't feel comfortable going into the house without him. She'd only been here once and that wasn't one of her better memories. It had been necessary, she knew, to break the fugue state, but necessary and pleasant….. She stopped, forcing herself to break the track of her thoughts and the guilt that would come with them. There was guilt enough here already.

If she hadn't let her guard down…

Let Red John outwit her…

She could feel her heart accelerating and perspiration slicked her palms as the memories materialised from the ether. Crowding. Demanding. But she knew better than to let them in. Agent Teresa Lisbon did not give into such things. It wasn't acceptable. Therefore, it wasn't done.

That eventful day preyed enough on her mind as it was. Yes, it was a victory in that they'd stopped Red John. Brought down a monster. But she was the damned agent here. And yet it was Jane who'd got hurt. Who had nearly given his life, trying to protect _her_. She shuddered. She would not go there. Not think about if he'd have died. At least, not in her waking hours.

Popping the trunk, she located the flask and the all important coffee. She perched on the edge of the vehicle and sipped the hot liquid, listening to the gulls squawk and bicker and the distant murmur of the sea. It was quiet here. Too still, really, after the noise and bustle of downtown Sacramento.

Finishing her drink, Lisbon made herself busy, unloading the picnic and painting supplies and carrying them to the house door. That seemed liked the best compromise. And it killed time until she would have to wake Jane anyway, since his pain medication was now about due. It was good to be busy. Helped to keep the demons at bay.

It took her a few minutes to put everything ready on the doorstep. Once finished, she occupied herself for the next ten minutes by perusing the shrubs in his front garden. It was all very well tended – pristine really - so she knew he must have kept someone on a retainer to take care of it. Probably to look after all the other maintenance as well, given that the place looked immaculate. Not like somewhere left vacant for ten years.

Almost time now. Pouring herself a refill of her favourite stimulant, she dunked a teabag in the second mug, letting it steep in the hot water. The man was in love with his tea. Even as deeply asleep as he still appeared to be, she had no doubt that the rising steam would lead him back to wakefulness. She left it stewing on the dashboard, well aware of how much he would complain about the inferior brand, as she hopped back into her own seat and relaxed in the air conditioning.

Sure enough, a few moments later, Jane began to stir, reaching for the tea before his eyes were fully focussed. It took two whole mouthfuls before his brain caught up and he screwed up his face in disgust.

"Lisbon! This is… this is… Ughh. You call this tea?"

The expression on his face – wrinkled forehead and nose, screwed up eyes and lips – was hilarious. Lisbon couldn't help herself as the laughter bubbled up.

"I could offer you coffee. I'll ration myself so we can share…"

The disgust in Jane's expression turned to incredulity. Lisbon controlled herself with difficulty.

"Hey, I even put the milk in first. Real milk, from a cooler. Some people…"

Jane's face relaxed and a small smile hovered at the edge of his lips.

"I know. I know. It's all my fault. I didn't give you enough notice so you couldn't buy proper tea and so settled for this… poison… instead."

"Well, yeah."

"Let's go inside. Where there's some decent stuff."

"Any coffee?"

"Hell, no."

"Well, in that case…"

Lisbon hopped out of the SUV again, turning as if she was going to walk away, before relenting and going to help Jane out of the passenger's side. He lurched badly as the stiffness from prolonged sitting locked the injured muscles and she ducked under his arm to support him. Carefully, they made their way to the house.

* * *

Sinking more deeply into the living room couch, trying to find a comfortable position, Jane listened to Lisbon as she stomped round the kitchen, opening and closing doors. Not only would she find a decent tea selection and a china cup and saucer, but there was also a mug, courtesy of Danny, and a small mountain of her favourite coffee. Even if he couldn't be the perfect host at the moment, he wasn't going to deprive his guest of her creature comforts.

Opening his fingers, Jane gazed at the gold ring in his palm and the indentation in his skin from gripping it tightly. Stage 1, its removal, was complete. Stage 2 was to put it down. He wasn't quite there yet. He laid it carefully on the occasional table but then couldn't turn away. His gaze was locked on the band and his hand hovered protectively. As he heard Lisbon's footsteps, he snatched it up again, balancing it on his thigh, taking comfort from the contact. He schooled his features into a semblance of nonchalance.

Lisbon, Teresa, returned, armed with a tray bearing the welcome tea and her own drink. She'd unpacked the picnic and found some of the porcelain plates. Evidently, she didn't feel comfortable eating out of the packaging in these surroundings but she'd laid out enough food for 2 meals even in the presence of Rigsby! And all his favourites. He knew that she was trying to tempt him to eat better but he still struggled to find his appetite.

"Thank you, Teresa." He grabbed a sandwich and the teacup.

"It's no problem, Ja…, Patrick."

They ate in companiable silence for a while, though it was clear that Teresa was nervous and she kept clasping and unclasping her mother's cross around her neck. Patrick thought he knew why. After clearing away the leftovers, and watching as he popped his pills, she came back and stood awkwardly in front of him.

"Jane", she began, "I was wondering… You know how I wear this…" Her fingers clasped the cross at her neck. "To remember my mother… I thought, maybe, if you would like to…." She held out her hand with a sturdy silver chain hanging from her fingers. "Only. I mean. Only if you'd like. If that's what you want."

His sweet, adorable, little Lisbon. He reached out, taking the chain from her.

"Thank you, Teresa."

"Well, this way you can still keep them close to your heart. I can see that it's bothering you."

She gestured to the ring on this knee.

"You keep touching it."

"Do you… Do you think that would be OK?" he responded.

"Of course. It's part of you, Patrick. They're part of you, And, if you ever decide to move on with another woman, she's going to have to accept it. And, if she loves you, she will."

"You seem very certain about that."

"Well, I would."

Teresa ducked, blushing, before scurrying off to the kitchen, ostensibly to refill the kettle. Patrick smiled softly as he watched her go. An embarrassed Lisbon was such a beautiful sight. And there was only one woman whose opinion mattered with regards to his ring. If Teresa was OK with it, that was good enough for him. And he could still take comfort from the worn metal band, his last link to Angela and Charlotte, whilst not letting it interfere with his new relationship going forward. He felt sure that Angela would have approved. If she could have, he had no doubt that she'd have kicked him in the ass by now for his refusal to live his life until after Red John was gone. But he'd needed to do that first. To see the monster die. Partly for Angela and Charlotte – his vengeance, partly for himself – his atonement, and partly to keep those he loved safe from the ever present darkness. The threat that had never been so real as in those last few months.

Coiling the chain up carefully, he tucked it into his top vest pocket, followed by the ring. There would be time to deal with that later. For now, it was time to do the job that they came here for today. That smiley face was going. Red John would have no memorial. He was history now and the sooner he faded from living memory, the better.

With a groan, Jane levered himself to his feet. Time to tackle the stairs, preferably before Teresa got back and started fussing. Once he reached the top, there was a chair where he could rest awhile.

* * *

An hour later, both Teresa and Patrick stood in what had been the master bedroom. The thin mattress on which Jane used to sleep had been evicted to the landing and the walls had been prepared for painting. Whilst Teresa had thought of using bleach on the smiley face, in the end they decided the best policy was to paint over it. If two coats of paint wasn't enough, Teresa would apply some more when they returned the following day.

Leaning heavily on his stick, Jane reached for the roller, ignoring Teresa's protests about painting in his 3-piece suit. She was now more suitably clad in an old and stained T-shirt and jeans worn threadbare at the knees. He breathed deeply and stared at the smiley one last time, committing this moment to memory and refusing to let the ghosts of his past to rise. He loaded the roller with the magnolia paint and ran it up and down and then diagonally, obliterating the offending object. Then he grabbed some more paint and went over it again, leaving a large wet oval in the middle of the wall. Then, cursing his lack of stamina, and his emotional exhaustion, he flopped heavily back in the chair.

"You OK?" Teresa queried.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I think I need another nap."

"Well, naturally. Now that there's work to be done." Teresa mock pouted, her hand on her hip, making it clear that she was kidding.

"Meh. Workaholic slavedriver…"

She assisted Patrick as he made his way over to the mattress and lay on his back, resting his injured leg, which was now complaining vehemently over the amount of effort that had been required of it.

"Nighty-night."

"Sweet dreams."

Lisbon watched for a few moments as Jane relaxed, his eyes closed. It was easy to forget how fragile he still was given his constant chattering and his outright stupidity. She hoped that he'd be out for a while though she had no doubt that he was just feigning sleep currently. He needed the rest and she didn't doubt the strain that painting over that smiley had put on him emotionally, not to mention physically. The leg might be the worst remaining injury but it certainly wasn't the only one. The scars on his torso and his neck would likely never disappear, and neither would the ones on her forearms. But her cuts had been shallow. His, not so. She was sure that it was only his determination to see the end of Red John and his utter stubbornness that kept him alive, but she was so glad that the it had.

Despite all the time she'd spent watching him sleep in the hospital, it was still captivating, and Teresa knew that she had to stir herself. The quicker she got started, the sooner that they could leave this place.

* * *

A few hours later, the job was done. Lisbon surveyed her handiwork, satisfied that she hadn't missed any bits and that the smiley was well and truly obliterated. She sank down onto the floor, knees hugged to her chest and took stock. A few minutes later, she heard a moan and Patrick tried, and failed, to turn over in his sleep, shocking himself awake. He looked tousled and sleep drugged and Lisbon struggled with the urge to go and wrap her arms around him, to kiss his forehead.

"So now, he wakes up. What good timing."

"What? Ah. Oh, good job, Lisbon. Teresa. It's finished."

He sat up, looking round the room, and throwing off the blanket that she'd placed over him.

"You'll have to wait there for a moment whilst I get washed and changed."

Jane smirked at her.

"I don't mind. By all means change here."

"Jackass!" she replied, before reaching across to fluff his curls with her left, paint-free hand. "Oh, magnolia looks well on you. Can't really tell the difference."

Jane just carried on smiling, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Thank you, Teresa. I know I'm not much use to you at the moment. But I'll make up for it one day."

"Shut up. Saving my life – again – kind of evens things up a bit, don't you think."

"Meh. Details… Besides, we both have Rigsby to thank for putting that bullet though Red John's shoulder. I didn't manage to get the knife off him. And I don't know which of the guys actually killed him. I think that they all fired together but things were getting a bit blurry by that point."

"Yeah, you were bleeding out. Badly. I… I didn't… Eech, whatever"

"I'm not sorry you know."

"Sorry about what?"

"Getting injured like this. Running in like a headless lemming, without even grabbing the gun from under my seat."

Jane reached out to grasp Lisbon's fingers, looking her straight in the eye.

"What I did was stupid, no doubt, and, yes, I'm paying for it. But you're alive. I'm alive. And so are the guys. I couldn't have gone on if he'd have killed you. It was bad enough as it was, seeing you strapped to that chair whilst he cut you down each of your arms. I just lost it."

"Sshh, it's OK. We're all still here. And we took the son of a bitch down. He won't hurt anyone else. I feel terrible that he got to me. And about the state you're in."

"S'not your fault, Teresa. Besides, when else would you have let me nap while you decorated my house? As cunning plans go, it could have been worse."

Shaking her head, Lisbon stood up. "Right. I'm off to shower. You OK?"

"Yeah, if you'll help me up first. I'll sit in the chair."

* * *

Teresa cleaned up and changed back into her usual attire before going downstairs to brew up again. Carrying her mug and Jane's teacup back upstairs, she was surprised to find he'd gone. Opening the next door along the landing, she found him in what she assumed was Charlotte's room, given the pink wallpaper with unicorns and flying horses. He was rummaging through a cardboard box perched on the edge of a small desk. No bed in this room either. Lisbon forced herself not to think about it too much but the crime scene photos flashed back anyway. Little Charlotte had been killed in her own bed, with a knife to the heart, before being carried into the main bedroom to be posed alongside her mother's corpse. That took a sick, sick mind. But at least the child's death was clinical and clean. Not like the slaughter in the main bedroom.

Jane was resolutely ignoring her, for which she was thankful. She didn't want him to read the thoughts in her head currently. She needed to get a grip. To be here for him. And whatever was in that box had him absorbed.

Suddenly, Patrick looked up, slamming his carefree mask into place as he caught her eye, but not before she noticed the pain and the horror within him. He lifted out an ornate jewellery box and started to rummage through it. A wealth of riches spilled out. Sapphires, diamonds and opals mainly. Angela Jane had had exquisite tastes, or her husband had. He efficiently sorted them into three piles, before spotting the piece that he had been looking for. A plain gold band set with a single solitaire diamond.

"Angela's engagement ring." He held it up to the light, remembering the day that he gave it to her, riding the ferris wheel after the punters had all gone. A week before they made their escape. Glancing at Lisbon, he looked at her quizzically.

"Ah. You were expecting something a little more ostentatious. You forget that I came from nothing. Angela had more than I did, and I don't think she ever went hungry, but she still didn't have much. And we both knew that as soon as we left, that would be it. We'd be scratching a living in every way that we could. So this was a big deal to me then. It took me months to save up for it, and I was the happiest man alive when she said yes. It was her seventeenth birthday."

He took the ring and held it, considering.

"She was buried with her wedding and eternity rings. After we married, she didn't wear this much. She was always frightened of it catching on things. That's why I didn't think – at the time – that it should go with her. I really don't remember much about planning the funerals except that I was in a hell of a mess at the time. It's a wonder that I stayed alive long enough to get incarcerated in that hospital."

Deciding, Jane reached back into the vest pocket, pulling out his wedding ring and the chain.

"I was thinking about what you said, about how I can still move on and yet keep them near. And a woman who loves me would understand."

He slipped both rings onto the chain, blinking away the tears that were filling his eyes.

"And there's one more thing."

Reaching into a pot in the corner, he pulled back a gold locket on a short chain and a plastic flower ring.

"These were Charlotte's."

He threaded the ring onto the chain Teresa had given him, next to his wedding ring, and then passed it to Teresa.

"Do you mind?"

She rose and stood behind him, carefully fastening the chain around his neck, before resting her hands on his shoulders momentarily. As Jane reached for the locket, she crouched beside him for a better look. It was beautiful. Embossed with delicate silver flowers.

"Inside there's a picture of Angela and I on one side and a picture of Charlie, aged 4, on the other. I'm not going to open it now, but I want it with me."

He slid the locket into the vest pocket which previously contained his wedding ring and looped the chain around, securing it with a pin.

"And now, Teresa, I want you to do something for me, and don't argue."

"What?"

"As you can see, I've sorted the jewellery into 3 piles. This one is for me. They're the things with the most sentimental value, which I don't want to lose and wouldn't be comfortable with anyone else wearing. This isn't everything. I've already sent Danny off with an equal share – which he can keep to remember his sister by, give to his woman or sell – I don't care. And he took a share for Angela's mother too. This is simply the remainder, and I'd like to divide it between the 2 most significant women in my life now, you and van Pelt."

Teresa began to splutter but Patrick held firm.

"Teresa, just this once, please see it from my perspective. Money means nothing. I've had it all and I can easily get whatever I want. A day in Vegas or Reno would take care of my every financial need and I have more squirrelled away than you could earn in the next 10 years. No, make that 20 years. And Angela's jewellery is very personal. It's important to me to give these things to people I care about. And yes, your pile is slightly bigger than van Pelt's but it's divided on what I think each of you would like, not on monetary value. And, yes, I have been fair to you both, but please remember, much as I value and care for van Pelt as a colleague and a friend, I am closer to you, much closer, than anyone else on this earth now."

Lisbon stared speechless at the pile of boxes, before looking back at Jane.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

She carried on staring, lost for words.

"OK. Let's look at what I put aside for van Pelt. See if you think she'll like them. Then we can look at your stuff later. When you recover."

"But…. But, it's a waste. I'll never wear anything like this."

"No. A waste is leaving them here in the closet or burying them in the ground. And, besides, once I'm fit again, we should go out to celebrate. I'll take you to somewhere where you can wear them!"

"Ah. Thank you, I guess. Erm."

"Here."

Patrick passed her a couple of velvet pouches.

"One for each of you."

As she loaded up van Pelt's share, Patrick returned the pieces that he was keeping to the jewellery box and parcelled up Lisbon's share, adding a few more things when he knew she wasn't looking. She had no idea of how much he planned to wine and dine her in the future. Or that the jewellery was only the start of it.

"You know what I would really like now? Some tea."

Teresa turned to hug him gently, mindful of his injuries. She still looked flummoxed.

"Thank you. You shouldn't have but…"

"So, back to reality. Are you still OK with me filling up your spare room with boxes, at least for the next few weeks."

"Of course."

"I'd like to keep everything in that corner. It's all boxed up. Danny helped me with it. After that, everything else can go."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"You OK with the stairs?"

"Yeah. I'll take it slowly. I just want to check round up here first.

Lisbon left to return to the kitchen. The jewellery bag was clutched in her hand, though she still couldn't bring herself to open it. Jane stood cautiously, testing his injured leg. Time for the last look around up here. To finally close those doors in his memory palace. He would come back here with the guys tomorrow but only downstairs.

Going into each of the rooms, he paused, remembering the good things and the bad. Finding those few quintessential moments. He was saying goodbye to the place. And to this chapter. But not to Angela and Charlotte. They were gone now. They were at peace.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm sorry**

_Continues the post Red John relationship between Jane and Lisbon._

_Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing._

It was going to be a long night he suspected. Despite the comfortable hotel room and the proximity of dear Lisbon to ease his loneliness.

Shuffling himself into a comfortable position, Jane lay down in the bed next to the wall, and tried to relax. Fatigue gripped him in a bear hug, dragging him down, whilst his back, shoulder and leg muscles had locked in protest, demanding satisfaction. He breathed, slowly and deeply, in and out.

Visualising the pain and tension as an orchestra, he took over, becoming the maestro. With focus and control, he could beat this. And surrender to sleep on his own terms, not dragged under by some bloated incarnation of Hypnos.

The shower had helped a little, but the associated dressing and undressing had been hard. Nevertheless, he had done it. Apart from asking Lisbon to put a stool in the cubicle, he had managed the rest. Maintained his dignity. A small victory but an important one. And one he would savour. If (when) Teresa finally saw him naked, it would be on his own terms, not because he was too injured and pathetic to manage. A smile crept across his face as he realised how mad Lisbon would be at him for that thought. There wasn't really that much to choose between them in their stubbornness and fiercely independent natures.

Laying there, he took stock. His grief for Angela and Charlotte had subsided into a profound ache and sadness in his heart. Deep and real. But also manageable. A part of him. But not the whole of him. Today he had felt the iron bands around his core start to slacken and fall away. He wasn't free yet, but he was more alive than he had been in a long time. Since before that fateful evening in Malibu when Red John destroyed him and the loves of his life.

It had been a very long day, he reflected, retracing his steps from Teresa's apartment to the cemetery and then onto Malibu. Whilst he'd been prepared to stay there overnight, he had to agree that Teresa's plan was better. A comfortable, small hotel with an ensuite twin bedded room and a chef who understood his ingredients. The lamb had been succulent and flavourful, with a side selection of simple, perfectly cooked vegetables. For the first time since Red John's demise, and his slow recovery from the resulting injuries, Patrick had felt the stirrings of appetite and actually enjoyed eating, rather than forcing it down. And, whilst Teresa had tried to suppress it, her relief and delight to see him really eat had been palpable. He was sated to the point of being stuffed now, but couldn't help but look forward to eggs for breakfast.

Ah, the sound of the shower abruptly cut off. Teresa must be almost done. Whilst he wasn't up to much at the moment, he was still a man, and the thought of watching Teresa pad to bed in her sleeping attire, was too good to miss. Even if it wasn't wise to think of her slippery and soap-sudded only a few feet away. No. He wasn't going there. Least not now. But that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate her skimpy night attire. Maybe they'd talk for a while after she turned off the light. If he was really lucky, she may come over and kiss him first.

OK. So no, that was wishful thinking. But hey. A little fantasy never hurt anyone. And given the circumstances, he wasn't going to let it balloon into a fully fledged one. It would be returned to the shelf in his memory palace until such a time as he could give it free rein. Let it develop and savour it to the point of its release. Anything more would have to wait until his mind and body were completely recovered.

And hers too, for that matter.

He knew that Lisbon loved him, just as he loved her, but he wasn't sure if she could accept that. Or if she'd fight to maintain the status quo as friends and co-workers. He hoped not. Not after everything that had happened the last few weeks. They both had a lot to think about and he knew that some of it was proving difficult for her.

At that moment, Teresa emerged from the bathroom clad in a long loose jersey and yoga pants. She looked far too covered up, much to Jane's disappointment, though he watched her anyway as she made her way across the room to the other double bed.

"I'm surprised you're still awake, Sleeping Beauty," she quipped, as she perched on the edge of the bed facing him. Reaching behind, she expertly plaited her still slightly damp hair and secured in with an elastic tie. "Need anything?"

Jane yawned and stretched theatrically, wincing as the muscles protested. "No, I'm good."

He rolled over onto his side, facing Lisbon, with one arm under the pillow and the other across his chest. "Nighty night Teresa. Hope you sleep well."

"And you."

A few moments later, just before reaching to turn out the light, Teresa stood and studied Jane's face. He was fast asleep once more. She wasn't sure if it was his injuries or just 10, no maybe 11, years of sleep deprivation demanding payment of their debt. But he'd gone to the other extreme.

Carefully, Teresa placed a kiss on her index and middle fingers and then touched them to Patrick's forehead. He looked relaxed and so much younger despite the pain which she knew still plagued him. She longed to sit beside him all night, caressing his forehead and tousling his curls with her fingers, but she knew that she couldn't. Some fantasies should not be indulged. And, whilst Patrick was accepting her help currently, she could see that his pride was making it difficult sometimes and she didn't want him to close down completely.

As she watched him, the familiar spasm of guilt racked her frame, leaving bitter regret pulling her down into its vortex. Patrick was in this state because of her. Because she allowed Red John to capture her- an experienced senior agent –with a simple bit of trickery. Had she learned nothing from working with Jane all these years?

The memories flooded forward. Hearing the noise in the parking lot and instinctively walking towards it. Never once thinking about watching her back. Definitely not expecting to be hit in the arm with a tranquiliser dart. And then waking up in that room, bound to a chair, knowing that not only was she going to die but that her death would destroy Jane too. Red John had made sure that she knew that. And how much he was going to enjoy killing her.

And then Jane had burst in. He had saved them both. Bought the few precious moments needed for the team to arrive. But at what a cost to himself.

Fingering the cross around her neck, Lisbon began to pray, unsure as to whether her prayers were to God or whether this was what she needed to say to Jane. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Her only consolation: at least, unlike her mother and father, he hadn't left her. He'd fought for life with all that Jane stubbornness and had stayed.

Looking down, tracing the scars on her own arms, she made her way back to her bed. These cuts had hurt enough and they were nothing to what he had endured. And, much as she hated the permanent reminder etched into her own skin, she knew that Patrick's body had fared far worse. And, if she was to be there for him, making sure he knew that they were badges of honour rather than a disfigurement, she was going to have to accept that herself.

Climbing into bed and turning out the light, Lisbon lay quietly, listening to Jane's breathing. In and out. In and out. It reminded her of the evenings at his bedside in ICU, when they weren't sure that he was going to make it. He was so much stronger now. In mind and body. And she needed to remember that. She couldn't find words to tell him how proud she was of him, or of the effort he'd put in to get mobile again.

Much as she dreaded falling asleep, and of what her subconscious would release when she did, Lisbon soon drifted off. Being in the same space as Jane was somehow soothing. For the first time in months, she felt safe.


	5. Chapter 5

7. **Forgive me**  
_With thanks to Sue Shay for her detailed and thought provoking critique of this chapter. Her suggestions made a great deal of difference and her generosity with both time and skill is much appreciated._

_Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with The Mentalist and make no money from fanfiction._

Jane awoke with a start. The room was dark. He sprawled on a firm and comfortable bed, wrapped in a soft and lightweight duvet, with a plump pillow under his head. Reaching out he discovered that the bed was large, with a wall on one side and a small table on the other. A faint cast of greenish light emitted from a digital alarm. Turning it to face him, he scrubbed the sleep from his heavy eyes and yawned deeply. 3.12am. Not morning yet. Rest had relieved the worst of his chronic exhaustion but he still felt tired. He needed to go back to sleep. At least now he remembered where he was.

Lying down, his head returning to the dent in the pillow, Patrick tuned into his surroundings. His leg throbbed dully; nothing new there. But that wasn't all. He could hear the heavy breathing of another sleeper but not one at peace. Lisbon was muttering away to herself. That must have been what woke him. He tried to make out the words but they were too indistinct.

Oh well. Nothing for it. He was awake now and his bladder had noticed and started making plans. Switching on the bedside light, Jane reached for his slippers and stick, standing with a heartfelt groan. Lisbon was still sleeping. Not surprising given the strain she'd been under lately. He regarded her for a few moments. She looked almost ill with dark smudges under her eyes and her dulled skin, not to mention her visible weight loss. All the time she'd spent by his bedside in the hospital, and then latterly fretting after he'd discharged himself, it had taken a heavy toll. She hadn't had anywhere near enough rest since the day that Red John was killed. That was clear.

Returning from the bathroom, Jane went to the small table about half way back to his bed. Slumping down on one of the chairs he watched Lisbon. Restless, she tossed and turned, her feet kicking out from under the covers. It wouldn't be long before her duvet was on the floor. Her eyes flicked beneath closed lids and her face scrunched up in pain. REM sleep. A nightmare. Her murmurs became moans and he picked out odd words..."No!" "Jane!" "He's bleeding out." "Stay with me. Please!" It was pretty clear what was going on. She was locked in the memories of that night. The night that changed everything.

"Lisbon!" Jane could feel her terror dragging him in. He had to rouse her. Quickly! He jumped to his feet but almost fell as a dagger lanced through his leg, making him grab at the table. As his curses subsided, he began the slow trek to her bedside berating himself for his inability to do more. "Teresa, it's OK. Teresa!" She didn't respond to him. Instead, she fought with her duvet like it was a wrestling opponent, her hands bunched into fists.

Reaching the side of her bed, Jane dropped his stick and perched on the edge, ignoring the way Teresa's fists were pummelling him as she dreamed. He needed to wake her. Preferably without startling her too much or he may get beaten up for real. Even unfocussed, her punches hurt.

"Teresa." He bent over her sleeping form, reaching out to stroke her forehead. He gentled her like she was an injured animal. "Teresa, it's OK. You're safe. I'm here." But still she continued to fight. His heart grew heavy. He never could stand to see her suffer. Moving on, he ran his fingers through her hair before gripping her shoulder and commanding, "Teresa! Wake up!" She stilled for a moment, so he tried again. "Wake up. It's OK, I've got you."

Lisbon eyes fluttered open, full of confusion and horror. Jane continued running his fingers through her hair and caressing her forehead, all the while reassuring her quietly. "It's OK, my dear. Just a nightmare. You're safe. We both are." Teresa turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow but Jane didn't let her get away with it. He poked her in the shoulder with his index finger, aiming for levity. "Hey now sleepyhead. I come all the way over here to wake you and you just ignore me? Oi, budge up and make me some room. This old man needs to rest."

Lisbon rolled back over, looking up at him with water-glazed eyes before moving across as he'd asked. Jane ignored the threatening tears as he shuffled into bed alongside her, lifting his leg with a groan. Lisbon's attention was immediately on him, worry-lines creasing her face. Instinctively her arms went out to support him.

"Are you OK?"

"Of course. You?"

She nodded. "Thanks for waking me."

"A nightmare, huh? Happening a lot?"

She turned away, hiding her face, but Jane could read the truth in her tension and the line of her back.

"Teresa, it's OK." He held out his arms to her. "Come here."

He lay on his back, pulling her to his chest. "You were dreaming about Red John. It's OK, he can't hurt us now. Any of us."

Teresa remained silent, though from the way her fingers fiddled with the hem of the pillowcase, she was clearly anxious. Concerned, Jane racked his brains for ways to calm her. Then he realised. Holding her against him he asked "What do you hear?"

"Your heartbeat."

"Yep, my heartbeat. Steady and strong. And proof of life. Just lie there and listen. Count the beats for me, with me. Here we go. 1..and..2..and..3…" When he'd reached 357 he stopped counting, pretty sure that Teresa was now asleep.

Three hours later, Lisbon awoke, her head still pillowed on Jane's chest. He felt warm and solid and safe. What was it about this man? Why could she relax so completely in his arms?

As she shifted, Jane awoke, wrapping his arms tightly round her in his semi-conscious state. She could feel his warm breath shifting in her hair. As he came to a little more he released her and started to yawn. She slid out of bed heading for the kettle.

A few minutes later, having brewed their morning drinks and freshened up, Lisbon carried the tea over to Jane where he relaxed on her bed. Fetching her coffee, she sat down next to him as he moved into a sitting position and she steeled herself to speak.

"Err, sorry that I woke you last night. I didn't mean to."

Jane cut straight in, "No need, Teresa. I woke because I needed the bathroom and it soon became clear that you were having a nightmare. I wasn't going to leave you in that state. And grumpy guts that you are in a morning, I wanted to be between you and your gun when I woke you, for my own protection!"

Lisbon started to laugh. "Oh that's a new one. 'I invited myself into your bed because otherwise you might shoot me'? Really, Jane? Is that the best you got?"

"Worked, didn't it?" He smiled back at her but instead of his usual hey-got-ya-good smile, this one was shy and sincere. A quiver ran through her and she reached across to take his hand. It was one of those now or never moments.

"Patrick, I just want to say… I mean… I'm so sorry for all of this. For letting Red John take me and for you being hurt so badly. Looking back, I mean I… I was so stupid." She bit her lip, turning away. "How could I have been so blind? Can you ever forgive me?"

Jane squeezed her hand gently, reaching with the other to cup her cheek, making sure she faced him. "Teresa, don't be so hard on yourself. All things considered, this has worked out well. Red John is dead and we're both alive. We have a future. He doesn't. As for forgiving you, there is nothing that you need forgiveness for! I've done far more terrible things and you've always taken me back. But if it makes you feel better, then yes, I forgive you. For whatever. Now it's time to forgive yourself."

He leaned forward slowly, giving her a peck on the cheek before staring into her eyes to make sure that she had taken him seriously. The large pools of mossy green drew him in, encouraging him to let go and lose himself in the woman he loved. His body and heart cried out for her, pushing him to get closer. But now was not the time. He knew that well. And he needed to make some space between them before applying the trusty biofeedback.

Levering himself to his feet, Jane took Teresa's hand once more but forced a light and jovial tone. "And I reckon that now we should go looking for breakfast. Don't you?"

Teresa nodded, looking up at him shyly. He could see that she was happy to change the subject.

"Standing between a man and his eggs! Takes a braver woman than me."

Passing Jane his stick, Teresa got up and walked to the door, turning to wait for him. The two of them made their way out of the room hand in hand.


End file.
